He Who Fights Monsters
by NotedStrangePerson
Summary: Hagi and Saya fought together during the horrors of World War II. When she woke again in the 60s she was alone. Something made Red Shield decide to break them apart after what happened during the Holocaust. NEW CHAPTERS.
1. The Birth of a Tragedy

Blood+

**He Who Fights Monsters**

Poem "Prayer Before Birth" by Louise MacNeice

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters affiliated with Blood+ or Blood: The Last Vampire. I wish I did but there you go.

"_He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."_

– Friedrich Neitzsche

"Beyond Good and Evil"

German Philosopher (1844 – 1900)

Chapter 1

**Die Geburt der Tragodie**

("The Birth of a Tragedy")

I am not yet born; O hear me.

Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the

club-footed ghoul come near me.

People still believe in vampires. As recently as the 1940s people, villagers from small paranoid communities in the middle of nowhere who still sacrificed sheep in Spring, told of hideous undying monsters who lived beyond death, very unlike those beautiful seductive faces of the Dracula novel.

They weren't humans, they whispered. They may look like humans, they may act like humans, and some (and they took this for a fact) even bit their victims to steal their faces, so they could gain the trust of the friends and family of the dead and kill more, but no, no they defiantly weren't humans, they muttered. By now mankind – the species that had invented the atomic bomb – should have grown out of its infancy.

A lot had changed since he had said goodnight to her on that snowy field in Russia. The Roaring Twenties had come and gone. The Great Depression which seemed to last for an eternity was finally at an end. Prohibition was dead.

And yet when he told her, once again, that the world was at war, that every country in Europe had joined in again, it had seemed like those 30 years had remained frozen, as though waiting for her to return.

"What year is it, Haji?"

"1942."

"Did we win?"

Haji looked up from the dark spot on the floor where she had accidentally spilled a droplet from his neck and it still stung to move. "Yes."

She did not answer.

"How long have we been fighting?"

Some inner instinct told Haji the answer to a question that could have so easily been misinterpreted. "It started in 1939. Hitler declared war on Great Britain. They called on France for support."

She was probably tired. Her eyes squinted slightly, as though peering at something far away. She was always a little here-and-there, a little out of it when she first woke. Even the fresh blood coursing through her veins barely stimulated those heavy eyelids and dry lips. A little bit of red still dribbled down the corner of her mouth.

In some decaying building, quiet and forgotten in the depths of Berlin, Saya was lying very still on the couch, one arm flung over her face, the other with its fingers brushing the floor and a dull throb in each of her temples. They had not even cut her hair yet. The couch was deep with cracked leather and the walls were bare, except of a few light squares where photographs and pictures use to be. It was cold and very dark outside. Haji saw watching her protectively on a small wooden box. There was little noise here, save for the buzz of the streetlamps outside. He'd carried her up the stairs, knowing she felt very light-headed.

For a while they said nothing.

"I will take you to see David and Lewis," he stood up abruptly, holding the coffin. "After you have rested. They are waiting for you at Red Shield Headquarters."

"Haji?"

"Hai?"

The corners of her mouth curled down sourly.

"Will there be any humans left when we are done? Wouldn't it be easier to let them destroy each other instead of defending them against chiropterans?" she blinked once, slowly. "Whomever I kill it seems there are twice as many humans taking its place . . . "

Haji's shoulder dropped as he discarded his cello and bow and the seat where her head lay creaked under his weight.

"Saya . . . " he sighed. He removed the arm over he face and placed it over her chest. Even in this dull light she scrunched up her eyes. "You must fight."

She winced under the light. "For how long? People inflict enough suffering on one another without the need for vampires."

"They carry enough suffering in their veins for a thousand nations."

"Not enough for us." She replied bitterly.

He opened his cello coffin with a click, keeping one eye on her. "I will be with you until the end, when all this is over. After that, we will let mankind be responsible for their own suffering." The blade muffled against soft puffed velvet inside. "Until then – "

He placed the handle in her palm. Her fingers curled around it slowly into a tight grip that whitened her knuckles. "Do not let the innocents suffer. Do not the chiropterans take those who do not deserve it."

Without any movement of muscle Saya's face hardened and stared towards the empty ceiling, barely breathing as Haji watched over her with overcast eyes.

That was three years ago.

_This was fluffy even by my standards. Originally I used to post my more realistic work but apparently doesn't upload porn._

_R&R_


	2. Mixed Opinions and Maxims

Blood+

**He Who Fights Monsters**

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters affiliated with Blood+ or Blood: The Last Vampire.

Neither do I own the Nazis. If I did I would use them for target practise.

Chapter 2

**Vermischte Meinungen und Sprüche**

("Mixed Opinions and Maxims")

I am not yet born, console me.

I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,

with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,

on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

His office was swathed in Nazi flags and photographs of Herr Hitler. Deep green walls were lit only by the small lamp on his mahogany desk, shining a square cut of light onto their hands and little elsewhere. He seemed to be talking to him from very far away, with his face shielded in shadow and the bottle held closely in front of him. Red Wine, he explained, should not be left in strong light.

"There are many rumours surrounding you, Herr Bormann. Terrible rumours, I do not wish to believe."

"Jå?"

Amshel held the neck of the glass firmly between two fingers, firmly enough so that he might break it.

"If I were to ask about them – would they come true? Would I be banished to the concentration camps, if I dare to ask if they even existed?

Herr Bormann took a large swig of his wine, which he gulped down greedily, hearing it swallow in his throat.

"Ah, but are you willing to believe them Herr Goldsmith?" came a deep-throated chuckling. "Are you jeopardising our future on the basis of some peasant testimony?"

Martin Bormann is thick-set with a sneering line for a mouth that spouted sarcasm and a heavy German accent. His eyes are too close together and pig-like and his hair is quickly balding. Bormann is Leader of the Third Reich, making him the second most powerful man in Germany under the Führer himself, to whom he is personal secretary and an absolutely trusted ally.

"You are not honestly believing the French peasants? They believe still in hexes und old wives tales."

"The same French peasants who organized the Resistance against you?" Amshel calmly stated. "When I first met you as a member of the Reichstag, would you have believed in vampires? Hexes and old wives tales?"

"We are the future Amshel – the anarchy that thrives in villages will be replaced by strong organized corporations. You know that as well as I do. Und we are willing to do, whatever is needed, to guarantee the success of the Master Race."

"Hm." Amshel stared inside his glass.

"Besides," his shoulders heaved once as he coughed slightly on his drink. "It is you I should be you worried about." He smirked. "_Unser Braut, unser_ Saya."

"Hmph. Saya." Repeated Amshel carefully. He was staring intensely at him.

"Our little_ Königin_." He replied fancifully examining the empty wine glass, ignorant of Amshel's stare. "Creating chiropterans is a slow process is it not? You either end up with another Chevalier or a corpse on your hands eh? Not easy to get someone willing to turn into a_ fledermaus_ now is it?"

"What's your proposal?"

"_Blut_ – Amshel Goldsmith." Bormann leaded forward, now matching his gaze. His voice was harsher now than before.

"I have access to Saya's blood. I have entire laboratories at my disposal. I have power, control und respect. Within days I will revel what you have taken years to try and prove. I will make the blood of the Queens flow through mankind's veins, und I will not be caught. I have many, many subjects to experiment on."

He leaned back in his chair again, interlocking his fingers. The harshness has gone.

"It is what we both want, what we all want. After all your attempts to conceive with Diva otherwise are not, erm, fruitful, eh?"

Amshel's face remained unchanged and impassive.

"Why would you ask my permission Niisan? You, I and every other Chevalier have access to our Queens' blood day and night, should we care for it. All I ask is to monitor the situation."

"These are dangerous times _Bruder_." He insisted. "We must keep every operation, every move we make under cover. I would not be so foolish as to just keep the blood to myself; it must be seen as a legal transaction. Would not the other SS Officers be suspicious?"

Amshel said nothing.

Another arrogant smirk found it's way into the corner of Bormann's mouth. "We shall meet at the Guild Hall tomorrow night at 10 pm, und I shall show you what I have created with Saya's blood. I shall be there with my other Officers, to assure no unpleasantries shall occur." He quickly added. "Of course I am not expecting you to come alone, bring our Chevaliers along with you. I expect caution on all sides – even from my _Bruders_."

"I would gladly believe any reports you send me on your progress." Amshel replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"_Nein_, _nein_, I would trust no one but yourself to oversee these historical events. Forgive me of the formalities, but discipline is the key to victory in the Fatherland."

Instead of the crass laugh Amshel was expecting Bormann remained entirely professional, matching the dull yet keen look in Niisan's eyes.

He stuck out his hand so his skin blazed brightly under the light. "Are we in agreement?"

The first Chevalier regarded his brother, as you might watch a well-known criminal, walking down the street.

"This is what I feared . . ."

He turned and scattered the papers from his inside his jacket onto the table. This worried those sitting round the – Joel was not careless with important documents – they regarded him anxiously. The corners seemed to be filled with shadows creeping out from the fading light. Tobacco smoke wafted above the room like city smog.

"The SS have taken Saya's blood."

The room paused. For a moment no one muttered or looked at anyone else.

"Why did this happen?" Someone asked.

The question had been praying on Joel's mind for some time. He turned abruptly and gazed out the window. The reflections of his colleagues shone dimly against the glass as he secretly seethed inside, paranoid thoughts maggotting in his brain.

"We don't know. Somehow the Goldsmiths were able to gain her blood – without our knowledge – and pass it on to the German National Socialist Party Leaders. There has been no confirmation of the reports sent to us about the concentration camps . . ." he closed his eyes for a moment. "But it's not a risk we're willing to take."

Members of Red Shield turned and watched each other uneasily.

Joel the 3rd spun on his heel, the bottom of his jacket twirling. "We cannot gamble on a Henry Ford-scale production of chiropterans. There are simply not enough of us to fight against such a prospect, let alone hide it."

"What can we do about this?"

Joel leaned on the edge of the table with his knuckles.

"We know who is responsible for this." She said gently. "Very, very few people have access to her blood. Fewer still would we not notice working undercover for the Goldsmiths."

Every person in the room had their own thought – if there really was someone good enough to hide in Red Shield, if there was a traitor on the table. The answer seemed obvious, all of them knew, they looked uneasy: the Medical Team.

"Saya and Haji have betrayed us."

There were no gasps. Some of them nodded cynically, some of the pursed their lips.

David had the courage to speak up. "Sir with all due respect, Saya would never hand over her blood to the Cinq Flèches. They are sworn enemies. She is in his fight as much as anyone."

Joel addressed him directly. He could see beads of sweat on his forehead.

"No one here is foolish enough to hand this over to the Germans. They do not make friends – they would happily remove their own troops we're it for the greater good. _Operation Hummingbird_ showed us that."

He sniffed deeply and spoke with uncharacteristic passion. "Saya and Haji are the only ones with nothing to lose. Do you think they are concerned with human affairs? Vampires are a race of their own. We forget that. They're own ambition is to guarantee the future of their own species – even if it means knocking off a few of their own kind." He added before anyone could object. "You've fallen into the trap. Nature's con. However much she may look and act like a 16-year-old she is not and she never will be. You forget," he said again. "They are not a part of the Human Race. And they _are _family."

An uneasy pall fell over the room. The prospect covered their eyes thicker than the haze drifting from their cigarettes and cigars in yellowish clouds.

"Sir you cannot possibly believe this? What possessed you to come up with such an idea?" David again.

Joel swiftly ignored him.

"Keep a close eye on the girl and her Chevalier." She ordered the other side of the desk. "We've let them have their freedom, now our security is at risk. Keep Saya on a very short lead."

Without official dismissal the chairs squeaked against the floor as all the members departed, except for David slouched defeated in his seat.

Saya spent the rest of the evening in her isolation room, staring outside the bars mournfully.

_Forgive me if I screwed up the translations – that's what happens when you use Microsoft Word. For all I know "Königin" might actually mean "fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth". Personally it sounds like page 104 in the Karma Sutra to me._

_If you have the correct translations please send them to me via e-mail and I'll correct them. Eventually._

_R&R_


	3. On the Use and Abuse of History for Life

Blood+

**He Who Fights Monsters**

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters affiliated with Blood+ or Blood: The Last Vampire.

Then again I never said I did.

Chapter 3

**Von Nutzen und Nach****theil der Historie für das Leben**

(On the Use and Abuse of History for Life)

I am not yet born; provide me

With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk

to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light

in the back of my mind to guide me.

Things had changed. Back when people used to has "Tally-Ho! Toodle-Pip! What-What?" she could wander off, in the middle of a snowstorm, without anyone nannying her. Except Hagi.

Saya had found, with a dull sense of surprise, she started to like being alone. There was a spot of her own she hadn't possessed for years. It was nothing like her thick-layered bed; it didn't have her vase with the peach roses, or the mirror, and that made her feel better. Because it meant when she was in that blurred stage between sleep and waking she wouldn't accidentally think she was at home in her mansion.

Everything before had been easier. Killings were few and far between and easier to cover up. Things were still new and exciting. Everyone was confident and good-natured . . .

_(For a twelve year old he played quite well. Everybody except Saya thought so. Saya thought he was a brat._

"_No!"_

_The brat stopped. "Really – not this way, hold the bow perpendicular to string, didn't I just tell you that?" He stared at her. "Once more, from the beginning."_

_Hagi wouldn't play. "What's wrong? Play!" she ordered._

_The boy never seemed to have anything but a blunt glare in his pale grey eyes. Even as he threw the bow down he barely frowned. The bow clattered as it hit the floor._

"_What are you doing?" she stood up abruptly. "Since Joel told me to teach you, I took the trouble to–"_

"_Don't' bother." He said, carefully leaning the cello against the padded chair. He walked away as calmly as he could._

"_If you want to be my friend, at least learn to play the cello."_

_He eyed her through his peripheral vision. "If it's a song and dance you want, I've been adequately trained."_

"_Then please show me." She picked up the bow. "I'll accompany you."_

_Hagi said nothing. "Sing what you like, and I'll catch up."_

_Still he said nothing. "Can't you do it?" She held the neck of the cello and frowned at the miserable boy. "If you're not going to do what I say then leave here and go back where you came from."_

_His resolution broke. "Fine then . . . I'll do whatever you say." The clenched fists did nothing to stop him choking. "I'll even sleep with you, if that's what you want." He yelled at her. "After all, you practically bought me!"_

_Hagi heard the gasps in his throat. Saya gave him a look of not disgust, nor anger, but worse, pity. Her face softened._

_He tore his gaze away – "Don't look at me with that face." – because tears were stinging his cheeks._

"_I don't' know . . ."_

_To both his and Saya's surprise she held him close to her chest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He stepped away but did not fight._

"_What should I do in a situation like this?" she asked, more to herself. "Whenever I cry, Joel holds me tight and tells me it's alright. That always calms me down a bit." He looked down at the top of his head. "How do you feel now, Hagi?"_

_True to her word, he had calmed down a little._

_He looked at the two of them in the mirror, past the peach-coloured rose, and the image burned itself into his mind.)_

There was a heavy clang at the door.

"I _said_ go away –"

"Saya."

It was the very lack of response that meant he could come in. The door made an unpleasant grating sound that could be mistaken for an animal noise. The younger human Hagi would have felt a deep pity, even a touch of horror at seeing in her in this state. The elder Hagi was glad they gave her enough chain length to stand up. His feet made very little noise as he walked.

Saya was peering up at the small barred window though which flakes of greyish, hard snowflakes flittered through. The air made a faintly familiar smell that was overpowered by a musky burning scent. It tasted of ash; metallic ash. She let a few of the flakes land on her nose and eyelashes, though they seemed to prefer the warm crevice of her cleavage. Her wrists bound in shackles mashed her bosoms together.

A part of Hagi was glad he was not human anymore. The human Hagi would have been too uncomfortable to know what to do if he saw Saya in chains. The human Hagi would be torn between rushing to Joel to tell him of the abuse they were inflicting upon his daughter, and wanting to preserve Saya's dignity. The human Hagi would not have found himself in this position, he told himself.

"Why are you here?

It's difficult to tell when vampire Hagi is hurt. "David sent me to check on you."

"Aren't there enough guards outside my door?"

They ignored the uniformed man standing outside, who let his eye wander to her bare backside every few minutes.

"The guards are only human. We thought it would be better if there was someone with your strength to keep you company."

("_Orders are - you can't have anything on your person. This means we can't allow you any privacy. You may try and hide something." His smirk was not on his face. She had already given her the sword, all the jewellery she had left, and anything she had in her pockets. It was not as though there was anything she had left to hide on her person._

_When she had finished he held out his hand. She checked herself but there was nothing left to give. He nodded at her forehead._

"_Your hair band."_

"_My hair band . . ." she repeated with a trace of disgust._

"_Please."_

_Though they maintained a professional conducted, not one of them didn't appreciate the fact she had to left up her arms to undo her hair. It would have been better, one of them later pointed out, if they had shackled her first – that way they could have taken out her hair themselves.)_

The virtuousness of the 19th century girl had all but faded, most lost their innocence in the 1940s, and in its place was the mythical vamp. Perhaps that's what the guards liked.

She narrowed her eyes at the window.

"I wonder why they're not keeping you in chains."

He hesitated. "I'm not sure." He knew perfectly well why, because they only keep the dangerous in chains. Cut off the head and the body will fail. Ironically the more they try to imprison her, the more dangerous she becomes.

"You hear what they're saying . . . the Goldsmiths have your blood. And no one knows how they received it."

"Hm."

"They will have to let you go eventually. They cannot fight without you . . ." his eyes darted to her face. "They will see we have no reason to betray them."

"They already know that. They have other reasons to keep me here." Her eyes had a fury her voice was missing. "You don't seem to mind either, Hagi."

His head rotated mechanically back towards the window. There was a gloomy haze circling the bars that seemed more like smog rather than cold air. Indeed, though it was snowing they could not se their breath. The vampire's skins seemed to glow beneath the dank depressing blanket of night creeping its way into the prison. Silence hung like thicker than the smog.

_("She has a history of deserting. She's done it once before."_

"_They were younger then, she thought she could end it all on her own. Her Chevalier followed her –"_

"_Her Chevalier is also a threat. Leave them together and they will turn on us. It's been seen in other animals, Pack Mentality." Joel's voice had a quite, unquestionable authority David's didn't. "I intend to keep them separate."_

"_I doubt she will obey you if you start taking away the people she loves."_

"_Don't let your compassion become turn into pity David. What has to be done has to be done. Don't anthropomorphise them."_

_With such a threat looming over them, David was not going to ignite a power struggle with Joel now. And it was true, she had deserted before._

"_The Chevalier can see her tomorrow if he must. It's less likely she'll tear off his head than yours."_

"_Yes sir.")_

Saya shook her head, as if a fly was bothering her.

"I'm sorry. I still remember the Bordeaux, I still remember you lying dead after a fit on the ground, I still remember running home to find someone to help us, and watching it go up in flames . . ." Saya's voice didn't waver with tears or choke with emotion. It was flat and bored.

Behind her Hagi stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. He noticed the gritty snowflakes were not melting.

Before she had been unnerved by that sudden compassion – the servant she knew, who told her off and quipped with her – had seemingly died over that cliff all those years ago, to be replaced with someone so quiet, so casual, so different. An impostor. It was like he was two people, and this one would stare at her while she slept at night.

She still remembered tracking Rasputin in the white realms of Russia, and taken aback by him intimately pressing his forehead against hers, or when he wandered in not wearing a shirt.

She doubted it would matter any longer.

"Saya. Do you remember stories of Jeanne d'Arc? Remember when we would spend entire days reading in the Library at the Mansion?"

Saya ignored him.

His is eyes sank. "They would have called her mad today. Today they would have locked her up in a lunatic asylum. Hearing voices . . ."

Something wet dripped on her back that made her flinch.

Her eyes darted – "What's that?"

His hand dragged off her shoulder so that the blood may drip on the floor instead of her back. "It's nothing."

He was not quite sure exactly, what he was protecting her from. Had it been warm, as it was in living creatures, she would have been able to identify it immediately. Cold blood dripping on her back made her colder still.

Hagi felt an extended metaphor in that thought.

_D00d, it's been a while. And to welcome you back, here's a lil' S&M – yummy._

_Please R&R_


	4. The Wanderer and His Shadow

Blood+

**He Who Fights Monsters**

Poem by Louis MacNeice

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah Not mine bla blah blah Production I.G. Blah blah blah Insert sort-of-funny quip here.

_For the record there's a bit of racist language here, but it has a contribution to the story. Sort of. Just warning you so I won't have to write any colourful replies to lots of angry e-mails._

Chapter 4

Der Wanderer und sein Schatten

("The Wanderer and His Shadow")

I am not yet born; forgive me

For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words

when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,

my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,

my life when they murder by means of my

hands, my death when they live me.

Diva was not particularly upset by the loss of Martin. He hadn't died or betrayed her, just suddenly dropped out of her life. If Amshel had told her Martin had joined a troupe of travelling acrobats she would have believed him without question.

Her father was lucky enough to have friends in the US Army, powerful friends strong enough to face the Nazis. As brothers he and Bormann would share everything, there was no need to keep secrets from each other.

"Playing the German's at their own game . . ."

"We have no more need for Herr Bormann." He stated flatly. "Wait until the German army starts to break. If he should die this very moment another one will take his place. It won't be long now."

Solomon didn't like to be reminded of his duty.

Amshel was not happy that all the research and effort he had put into the creation of chiropterans had been surpassed to use Saya's blood. Such a creature was too dangerous. It would take no more than an unfortunate scratch to eradicate his own Chevaliers. He needed the AUS on his side.

"Amshel."

The black man he recognized from their earlier talks addressed him standing in the doorway, standing to attention in his crisp uniform. The light behind him glowed copper in the fading light with the clouds sitting fat and floating, like seagulls drifting on the horizon. The light cut an orange shadow in this otherwise dank room.

He was very young to be the Co-Captain of a US aircraft carrier, and they both took an instinctive liking to him. At this foolhardy age he seemed responsible and disciplined.

"James isn't it?" asked Solomon.

"Yes."

"Is your Superior coming? I would not like to finish discussing arrangements without him." Amshel interjected.

He shook his head. "No." The thick-wrought iron door closed with a slight clang.

Had to be done. He could see where this was heading; even if they didn't win other equally prejudice white men would, and remove him from his position. It wasn't just the Jews they were after, they took gypsies, the mentally and physically ill, Communists, and niggers like him. And what's going to happen after the war is over, after the atrocities committed become public knowledge? He was screwed whichever side won. At least now becoming an outcast was a choice he had control over.

They as well were in a vulnerable position, and Amshel knows it. He's a Jew. If he has any sense he will leave Germany, and the rest he had the honour to call 'comrades' would forget about him. They might miss having a Darkie to piss on.

His contribution to the creation if the chiropterans might later prove valuable, especially if ultimately led to the downfall of Saya. The other girl he knew, Diva, didn't seem to hold much distinction between humans. Why should she?

_I know, I know, this chapter has nothing to do with the story. I don't care. James died the episode just before I started writing. We shall now have a moment's silence._

_Please R&R_


End file.
